


Euthanasia

by kainetics



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crossdressing, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecurity, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kainetics/pseuds/kainetics
Summary: Time lapses when their lips brush; the immemorial bane of senescence evanescing in their melding moans of ecstasy when their sin coalesces into one.Sehun doesn’t stop until every fibre of Jongin’s body goes numb.Or, where Sehun is merely an infrequent recurrence and Jongin is a bit too fickle to realise that.





	Euthanasia

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Sehunnie! May all your dreams and wishes come true  <3333 
> 
> Beta’d by [ookamitsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ookamitsu) and special thanks to [donkirot-samy](http://donkirot-samy.tumblr.com) for helping me revise a few plot points!
> 
> **Please heed the warnings enlisted in the tags.**
> 
> Now, enjoy! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

 

 

The flicker of a light bulb snaps a nearly comatose Jongin out of his reverie, illuminating everything and bathing his perspiring flesh in lurid swathes.

  
  
“Seems like I scheduled my visit at the perfect time.”

  
  
They merge paths in the dingy and deserted parking lot of Jongin’s house; their fates clashing clamorously amidst a fountain of sangria blood and mangled flesh in the solace of carnage.

  
  
It is magnificent.

  
  
“I am Oh Sehun. Maybe it is my real name; maybe not. Who knows?”

  
  
The insufferably cheeky smile this Sehun’s donning should annoy Jongin.

  
  
Instead, it steals away his breath in an indescribable wisp.

  
  
Jongin thinks he can never quite articulate this encounter of his - the first instance when the disconsolate eyes of a shunned eighteen-year-old with broken bones caught an unforeseen glimpse of this monster with a transpiring conscience painted in hues of red and with crusted flakes of blood burrowed under his clipped nails; all deftly guised under the sleek veil of sophistication.

  
  
Meeting this person is akin to drowning himself in a vast ocean of nothingness.

  
  
Jongin does not know.

  
  
What to say. What to do. What to feel.

  
  
“How do you feel, little one?” Sehun asks playfully as if he read Jongin’s mind.

 

The question lingers suffocatingly in a hushed sibilation of the ensuing silence.

  
  
“I will fucking kill you,” Jongin spits out, spiteful and venomous, in a belated response. No remorse in his enunciations. No solid reason backing his claims up, and the frigid muzzle of a Beretta ominously pressed against his forehead.

 

The reply is entirely unessential and he would still prefer to dwell in catatonia.

 

“Kill me?” Sehun flippantly repeats to himself, his bottom lip deliberately jutting out in a petulant pout. “Touché. And here I was, naïvely wondering that we’re about to embark upon a friendship,” he continues in a disconcertingly light-hearted manner, mocking words grittily contrasting the uncomfortable pressure of the gun’s muzzle against Jongin’s temple.

 

Jongin fumes, gnashing his teeth. “Get lost already-”

 

Sehun interrupts him by abruptly retracting his gun. Fixing the intrepid boy with a blank stare, he blithely begins brandishing the weapon in his lopsided grip.

 

Once. Twice. Thrice.

 

Jongin blinks strainingly with each rotation, an indecipherable sense of dread imploding his guts. His knees wobble and a single wish soundlessly escapes from his frozen lips.

 

_Please kill me. I don’t want anything short of death. Please, please, please-_

 

Whistling nonchalantly, Sehun tilts his neck to one side and sends Jongin a complacent wink before firing a shot.

 

“Sure, princess.”  

 

The words deviously pour into Jongin’s ears at the same time a bullet whizzes past his flailing strands of hair, missing his forehead by mere millimetres in a cunningly premeditated move.

 

Jongin is too tired to even scream.

 

Vision distorting incrementally, he collapses on the floor. He feels dizzy, so dizzy, thickly gulping and trembling, and he flinches as the aftermath of a deafening gunshot resounds in his pounding eardrums.

 

Something acrimonious snaps within Jongin. The spectre of that nagging and loathsome voice unsteadily manifests itself; reminding him over and over of his abysmal worthlessness and forcing him to recall the remorseless slaps and hits earlier this day - the hopeless anguish from being treated like some cheap, dirty doll - like some disposable punching bag.

 

Jongin hugs his shaking knees close to his chest in a protective gesture, insides feeling like they have been turned upside down and set on fire. Shuddering and sniffling, he slowly brings up his sweaty palms to flatten them on his red-rimmed eyes.

 

Motionless, Sehun simply continues staring at him inquisitively. “Little one, look it took only one botched up bullet to obliterate your bravado,” he scoffs, shaking his head in faux disappointment.

 

_“Your entire existence is a fucking disgrace.”_

 

That disembodied voice sounds a bit distant and Jongin cannot determine to whom it belongs. Nonetheless, he can hear the derision imbued in the words. It is mockingly clear. He feebly bites into his already bleeding lower lip, unintentionally gasping at the sight of Sehun’s blurry form kneeling before him visible through the gap in his fingers.

 

Saline mucus pools in his philtrum and whisked puffs of cool air keep hitting the region. Thighs clenching and unclenching, Jongin starts frantically rubbing his eyelids with the heels of his palms until they ache and finds himself unable to exercise control over his throbbing bladder anymore.

 

“Ah…”

 

Covering his face with his uninjured hand, Jongin dejectedly whimpers at the mortifying warmth splaying across his nether regions as an unstoppable flow of his own piss soaks deep into the threadbare material of his jeans.

 

Sehun scrunches up his nose when a tell-tale acrid stench pervades his nostrils and spares himself a sardonic chuckle aimed at Jongin’s pitiful _‘little accident’._ “My my, that’s some seriously impressive moxie you’ve got there,” he taunts, feigning incredulity in a sickeningly saccharine tone.

 

Mind rattling due to the lack of any proper response, Sehun raises his arm and harshly tugs at Jongin’s chestnut-brown locks, tipping his face up.

 

Jongin immediately fixes him with a withering glare, his puffy cheeks turning a mottled puce colour.

  
  
Sehun’s heart rate picks up.

  
  
In place of the disquietude enshrouding those pretty eyes, he ends up seeing such stunningly vivid beauty, life, love.

 

Surreal. Breathtaking. Haunting. Something right out of an unforgettable nightmare.

 

Yet, _one_ more discerning glance and he sees the allure of each arcane mithed beneath a deceitful veil of distrust and devastation.

 

Sehun grimaces, his spirits dissuading.

 

Such shame.

 

Breathing deep, he inches a little closer to Jongin and idly busies his free hand with the task of stroking the Jongin’s quivering thighs, and finally drawls out, “But you know what, buttercup; I’d certainly _love_ to see you try to vanquish me.”

 

Eyes stinging with tears of indignation, Jongin finds himself defiantly staring right into the darkened depths of the Angel of Death himself.

 

That wistful yearning is back. That ceaseless fear is back. That festering guilt is back.

  
  
Self-destructive impulses are what they called it.

 

Crawling forward, albeit, with a lot of infuriating difficulty, Jongin lifts his arm - the one in which his brittle bones still stand intact - to caress Sehun’s bloodstained cheeks.

 

Murky red fascinatingly sullying the flawless purity of shiny porcelain. Jongin mulls over - enthralling yet disturbingly synthetic. Wearily faking a confident smirk, he renders a lackadaisical drag of his bruised knuckles along the line of a taut tendon in Sehun’s neck.

 

Jongin isn’t insane. Just a bit sensitive, and maybe a little emotionally labile. And quite unreasonable also. He realizes it the moment his mouth and limbs begin moving without conscious approval.

  
  
“You monster,” he seethes, shakily wrapping his friable fingers around Sehun’s neck. He preens with curling satisfaction when the latter bristles in astonishment.

  
  
Jongin just wanted Sehun to blast his revolting brain into bits, to put an end to his miseries for once and for all. But the insolent might of this unwavering resolve cloying his morbid fancies is stronger.

  
  
Much stronger.

  
  
Jongin daringly tightens his grip.

  
  
“Your hubris is going to destroy you.”

  
  
It’s staggering to note that there isn’t a bullet truculently tearing apart his flesh already.

  
  
A whimsical laugh escapes Sehun’s lips, but it doesn’t sound snide or amused in any sense.

 

Nevertheless, Jongin’s whole body lurches and quivers when the melody hits him, sending violent shivers down his tingling spine. Automatically loosening the hold, he musters the might to shoot Sehun another irate look, his nerves verdantly brimming with unexplainable animosity.

 

Sehun crookedly flashes him a toothy grin in response. Absurd sentiments of pride and arrogance embodied by his upturned lips.

  
  
“It’s you who’s going to destroy me, Jongin-ah.”

  
  
_He spoke my name._

  
  
Jongin knows this presages the beginning of him treading those dangerously turbulent waters.

  
  
Jongin knows this irrational infatuation of the seemingly unattainable is going to ruin him and end up resulting in something horrifically irrevocable.

  
  
He knows. But, Jongin lets those same fingers that were rendering the cruel stranglehold hover over Sehun’s cerise lips, and breathes out, “Ruin me.”

 

He knows. But, Jongin leaves the rest to his death angel, unconditionally surrendering himself, as he flutters his eyelids shut.

  
  
After all, every debatable choice he makes in his life solely proves to be nought but a gaping misstep.

 

Let this be so. Let this be his last misstep.

 

Sehun tentatively circles his bleeding fingers around Jongin’s dainty wrist and pulls him impossibly close.

 

Sehun’s scent is rich and sombre; earthy musk and a repulsive metallic odour sparking an inextinguishable flame in his furiously palpitating heart.

 

The scent is foreign and frightening. And Jongin revels in it.

  
  
The first brush of their lips is remarkably tender, the coppery tang of blood flooding Jongin’s mouth and coaxing an excruciatingly sweet moan out of him.

 

Slowly and softly, Sehun fluctuates between faintly skimming over and delicately nipping into the unlawful plushness of Jongin’s lips, his ministrations eliciting an array of cute, pliant croons of gratification. Mere moments later, they part only to catch their escaping breaths, before returning to a deeper kiss. This time it’s their tongues that meet first.

 

Jongin curls an arm around Sehun’s neck, feverishly tugging at the collar of his white button-down to pull him closer. Sehun complies instantly, straddling Jongin and letting his knees snugly bracket the boy’s slender hips.  

 

Sehun exhales a long, slow breath, clothed shins carelessly dabbing in stagnant urine as he obligingly lurches forth to deepen the kiss. For what feels like an eternity, they just languidly lap and lick into one another’s mouths to ensconce in indolent warmth and comfort, hands exploring and imploring.

  
  
It’s in the brash urgency that gradually fills Sehun as those soothing kisses sloppily transform into something much more aggressive, in the intimacy of the desperate contact has aroused him to the point of throbbing, and in the torrid rapture of unbridled arousal that he cannot hold in his core for any longer.

  
  
Sehun drops the gun.

 

He breaks the kiss and stiffly backs away, breath hitching at the way Jongin’s rosy lips appear temptingly swollen. Divesting himself of his suit jacket, Sehun proceeds to maneuver his fingers into the buttons of Jongin’s dusty full-sleeve shirt, his movements fervid and impatient. 

 

A flux of emotions and thoughts overcome Jongin and he releases an aggravated hiss when a drift of chilly air grazes his now exposed nipples. Smirking haughtily, Sehun teases him further by purposefully tweaking those pebbled nubs under the pads of his thumbs.

 

In seconds, every cell in Sehun’s body begins forcing lecherous images into his head. Of Jongin on his back, vulnerably spread-eagled with a wild and undone appearance, shaking and begging to be fucked.

 

Sehun brutally rips the garment apart, breathing ragged as a mouth-watering expanse of caramel-toned skin is fully exposed for him, for his eyes to decadently feast on.

 

Nonetheless, the flame of lust blazing assaulting Sehun’s mind mollifies considerably.

 

There are natural moles and smooth blemishes freckling the surface, but there are scars as well. So many of them. Faded scratches, purplish handprints, and finger-shaped bruises denting Jongin’s supple flesh. Some still fresh and raw.

  
  
Dazed, Sehun lightly brushes his fingertips against their unevenness, perusing and memorizing the textures. For a second, he wonders if a blunt knife forcibly plunged deep into the throat would have a far better choice than six bullets to the heart for the grotty bastard responsible for perpetrating them.

 

But in no way, do these puny scars detract from the serene perfection of Jongin’s form.

 

The thought itself is unimaginably demeaning. They are just another intricate part of Jongin.

 

Sehun returns a radiant smile to an aghast Jongin who’s currently grappling his wrist, wordlessly imploring him to desist.  

 

“Stop,” Jongin says, tone almost imperceptible. Shyly, he spares Sehun a cursory glance.

 

A warm smile lingers on Sehun’s lips.

 

It’s the first time someone has regarded him with such a genuine expression and Jongin’s inconstant little heart forgets that this is the same maniac who ruthlessly murdered his entire family, unapologetically humiliated him to the point of a nervous breakdown, and threatened to rob him of his life not even hour ago.

 

The obfuscating paradox overpowers Jongin and tears wet his cheeks, a litany of soft sobs escaping his sore lips.

 

“Jongin?” The tone Sehun uses sends tremors down Jongin’s spine, and he forces himself to look up.

 

Sehun is frowning, severely so, eyebrows knitted and lips contemplatively pursed in a thin line. Not quite comprehending the situation, he gently cups Jongin’s tear-stained face in his palms.

 

“Forget yourself, Jongin-ah. Even if it’s for an insignificant stretch of time,” Sehun tries, making his statement sound more like an admonishment, and gingerly swipes his thumbs across the tears sequestering in Jongin’s hollow sockets. He begrudgingly forces himself to leave out the _‘or just when you are with me’._

 

Jongin sniffles again, nodding fervently. To Sehun, the sniffling seems more of an adorable habit now, and he tightly pinches Jongin’s moist cheeks, heart fluttering uncontrollably at the breathy yelp he receives in response.

 

“Stop!” Unbeknownst to his own self, Jongin hollers out the same word, a whole different emotional delivery, and unconsciously breaks into a fit of bubbly giggles.

 

Stupefaction clouds Sehun’s senses and he nearly bites into his tongue. It’s sometimes incredible how he has missed so much, living his aimless life so fast, blindly consumed in an inescapable cycle which brought him no joy but only repugnant splashes of blood and guts to his face.

 

The serendipitous grace of happiness decorating Jongin’s features is so mesmerizing; the boy’s full lips stretched wide and Sehun doesn’t have to search anymore. That vapid veil has vanished completely and now he can see tiny, ebullient sparkles of childish innocence in Jongin’s irises.

 

_What even are you?_

 

How can he ruin something so precious?  

 

“Jongin-ah, look into my eyes.”

 

Jongin feels Sehun’s stare piercing through him and the latter’s voice rings loud in his mind. He can’t get enough of it, the hypnotizing sound seizing his sense of rationality.

 

He makes the mistake of meeting Sehun’s gaze.

 

“S-sehun…”

 

Inhaling deeply, Sehun resolutely ignores the palpable heave overtaking his chest as Jongin unsurely stammers out his name.

 

“Remember to forget yourself,” he reiterates for one last time and lets his hands move from torso down lower, removing Jongin’s belt before hastily unbuckling his own.

 

The smothering atmosphere there has begun smelling awfully pungent; an enmeshed stench of putrefying flesh, choking ammonia, and metallic blood permeating Jongin’s nostrils.

  
  
And it is with barbaric desperation that Sehun unceremoniously slams him onto the dirty floor of the obscure parking area, straight into a drying puddle of the blood belonging to the ones who brought his miserable being into existence in the first place.

  
  
At some point, Jongin inexplicably feels a familiar gaze vilely discerning him and witnessing this shameless debauchery. Dismayed, he reluctantly shifts his gaze to where the bloodied corpses are haphazardly piled up.

  
  
His heart skips a visceral beat.

  
  
Umma is watching.

  
  
She always does. That’s the only thing she does.

  
  
And it scares Jongin to no end. Especially when condescendingly combined with the brunt of his father’s rage and his disgusting meaty grasp.

  
  
“Don’t look p-please… don’t s-see me- _ahh,”_ he pleads in utter helplessness, baffled by how horrendously weak and insecure his own voice sounds.

   
  
But Sehun doesn’t stop.

 

_“Forget yourself, Jongin-ah.”_

  
  
Turning his head to the side, Jongin refuses to concur with the unending accusation those plaintive eyes derisively covey.

 

It’s overwhelming.

 

Eyes hooded with desperate desire, Jongin stands perilously on the rickety bridge between pain and pleasure as Sehun brutishly fucks him open right then and there against the cold, wet concrete, greedily slaking his lust.

 

Jongin swallows a frustrated wail, his newfound hope diminishing as Sehun’s nails draw blood from his bare flesh. Neck graciously elongated and eyes welling up with unshed tears, he willingly bares his quickening pulse to someone with dangerous fangs suavely hidden behind consoling assurances and gentle open-mouthed kisses.

  
  
He’s insatiable. A vicious beast trapped in man’s visage

 

 _This is redemption,_ a languished Jongin hazily surmises, crimson liquid pruning the skin of his aching back and Sehun’s bare forearms.

 

Time lapses when their lips brush; the immemorial bane of senescence evanescing in their melding moans of ecstasy when their sin coalesces into one.

  
  
Sehun doesn’t stop until every fibre of Jongin’s body goes numb. 

 

 

 

**↢❦↣**

 

 

 

_“Sometimes I wonder what entices you more: me or the danger I promise.”_

 

_“Without you, there’s no danger and without danger, there’s no you, old man.”_

 

It was meant to be a joke. 

 

 

 

**↢❦↣**

 

 

 

The mission is fairly clear-cut. 

 

Salient sources Sehun’s been provided with entail of his target’s alleged affiliation with the mob.  

 

Notwithstanding the risky and evasive nature of this affluent businessman, his itinerary is laughably uncomplicated; in fact, a complete antithesis of his usual belligerent sprees. Mediocre and uptight. The mere recollection of willingly selecting this menial job dampens Sehun’s spirit and he still berates his decision, but the lucrative incentives that were pooled at his feet very well make it up for the lack of the éclat of mortal thrill.

  
  
Circumstances were dire, and Sehun acquiesced, even though prepayment is something that he considers horribly ignoble.

  
  
Do the job. Hog the bona fide cash. Because, Oh Sehun would never get his hands on something he has not earned to deserve.

  
  
But his ironclad rules now seem to be quite incorrigibly fucked up because a certain someone thought it would be a splendid idea to rebelliously barge into his sordid life. Thought it’d be great to debilitate Sehun by locking him within the limitless confines of his beautiful heart.

 

Sehun doesn’t regret any of this though.

 

Sighing deeply, he fondly traces the smooth edges of the small velvet box carefully tucked inside his pocket with his fingers.

  
  
Oh Sehun never regrets anything.

  
  
He smiles, alleviated.

  
  
_This will be worth it._

  
  
Sehun pulls on his gloves and discreetly sneaks into the man’s grandiose mansion in an abscond of the tranquil nighttime. The fabric is slightly itchy and uncomfortable against his skin, but he cannot complain.

 

Not today.

 

Those clandestine government agencies are definitely going to end up involving themselves in subsequent investigations; ergo, he has to be exceptionally thorough with the precautionary measures for precluding any flagrant evidence this time.

  
  
Moreover, the beauty in Sehun’s hands is not his sweetheart. No matter how much she tempts him, he wouldn’t dare lay an intimate touch.

  
  
Infidelity is disgraceful.

  
  
When Sehun slips into the room of his target, the only thing following him is his own dull shadow. Kneeling, he cautiously positions the barrel of the silencer slotted on the gun right at the centre of the man’s forehead and puts a bullet through his cranium, glumly spectating the splatter of blood across the pristine white sheets he’d been sleeping on.

  
  
Unperturbed, Sehun shrugs his shoulders and swiftly turns around on his heels, senses still alert, managing to accomplish only a few mincing steps before reflexively freezing dead in his tracks.

  
  
There in the dark corridor is a little girl.

 

“Appa?”

 

Sehun’s jaw hangs agape.

 

The child notices his presence after sleepily rubbing her drowsy eyes a couple of times, her gaze uncertain. Out of nowhere, she anxiously sprints across him to retrieve a little brown teddy bear from a lone mahogany armchair in the room and confusedly squints at him before moving on to snugly cradle the toy in her arms.

  
  
Body going rigid, Sehun feels his stomach clench, something unknown evoking in the back of his flabbergasted mind.

 

She turns back to fully face him, unfazed and not making any alarming noise even after spotting an intruder. Her vibrant blue irises bore serrated holes into Sehun’s crumbling form as they continue to stare at one another.

  
  
The girl’s feet seem permanently paralyzed, and at last, it’s she who breaks the profound eye contact to robotically crane her neck towards the bed only to be greeted with the macabre display of her father’s demise, his skull split open, and blood coating every nook and crevice.

  
  
A horrified sob spills out of her wobbling lips. “A-appa…”

  
  
Sehun expressionlessly stares at the girl, not moving an inch.

  
  
What can he do? Coddle her? Comfort her? Fucking apologize to her for being the reason behind her father’s rotting corpse?

  
  
At first, Sehun envisions a bright future in her glossy eyes, but then, an unsettling image of her father’s death enervating her and eating her up from the inside festers before him.

  
  
And it is _he_ who’s responsible for that.

  
  
His knees violently buckle, body feeling like it’s being fatally crushed in an invisible grip of guilt at the heart-wrenching sight of those doleful rivulets running down the distraught child’s cheeks that speak volumes, even when she is eerily silent.  

  
  
Sehun raises the gun.

  
  
His hands tremble - a first in the entirety of his complicit career where he has played the Angel of Death countless times for irredeemably deplorable scoundrels. Never before during his lifetime has his luck diminished or his skills have dared to fail him. He was ‘innately flawless’ – a flattering courtesy of his late mentor, but such adulatory accolades perhaps were never enough to stop his fate from tumbling down in an unavoidably detrimental slip.

  
  
Regardless, Sehun obdurately persists.

  
  
He is not doing this to mend his own faux pas.

  
  
“I will put an end to your misery.”

  
  
Tears begin pouring out of her eyes like she’s a broken valve. Instead of fleeing out of fear, she disparagingly hurls the stuffed toy at Sehun.

  
  
Something moist caresses Sehun’s cheeks, and he pulls the trigger before the girl could inevitably jeopardize him by letting loose that earsplitting screech she had been suppressing, and consequently alert everyone in the neighbourhood.

  
  
White lumps of cotton scatter around as the bullet first impales the stuffed toy flying towards him. Then, in a morbidly similar fashion to the prior occurrence, red liquid sprays around and her eyes that are staring into the despicable depths of his soul begin fading away.

 

Those crystal blue irises transforming into something frighteningly familiar, into a warm hue of amaretto that he has come to love so dearly.

  
  
_“You monster.”_

  
  
Bewildered, Sehun swerves, sprinting mindlessly across the hallway, stopping the run only when he reaches a dead-end. Panting harshly, he lets out an inane laugh, devoid of mirth and addled with despair; the malicious glint from a nearby windowpane pricking his eyes. Mind muddled up and body practically desensitized, it isn’t until he experiences a searing ache in his ribs Sehun realizes that he has jumped and crashed out through the window.

  
  
Sehun doesn’t move, his head lolling back and eyes watery. Lying on the trodden earth, he winces disdainfully, a hollow ache painfully gnawing at his heaving chest. Some pointy shards of glass are lodged in his neck and shoulders, the piercing pain unbearable, but regret is not his foremost priority right now.

 

He has to escape.

  
  
While straightening himself, that box tumbles out of his suit pocket, the once spotless layer of velvet now ghastly tainted with flakes of dried blood. An implacable maelstrom of panic and despondency rages inside Sehun and he hurriedly clutches the soiled box, lambasting those ludicrous daydreams responsible for turning him into such an idealistic fool.

 

Sehun knew something had been wrong with him once he stopped dreaming of bloodbaths.

 

And that he might have interpreted that ‘wrong’ as an entire other epiphany.

 

His dastardly self deserves none of those meaningful touches and the enrapture of those blinding smiles. 

 

Perhaps, Sehun never deserved the one who gave him a reason to breathe.

  
  
Dazed and hysterical, he recklessly flings himself into a mad dash, rushing past the cultured foliage as his heart reels to distance itself from the site of those gruesome murders, from the groundbreaking reality of his life.

  
  
_“Your hubris is going to destroy you.”_

  
  
It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

 

**↢❦↣**

 

 

 

_“Hmm, what if it’s this sweet danger that you so fondly speak of ends up tearing me away from you?”_

  
_  
_ _“Then promise that you will take me with you wherever you go.”_

  
  
He never kept the promise.

 

 

 

**↢❦↣**

 

 

  

Jongin forgets to remember his past self and starts anew.

 

Regardless, everything is same old, same old.

 

His uncanny disappearance was carelessly ruled out as an unfortunate instance of kidnapping. Though, it never mattered to him anyway.

 

And Sehun has been around for quite a while now. _‘I will take your responsibility, buttercup’_ had been his impromptu asseveration after adoringly bathing a fatigued Jongin that fateful day.

 

No matter how ephemeral his presence tends to be, Jongin cherishes every moment he spent with that unfeeling mongrel. Reminiscences of Sehun endearingly ruffling his hair for no reason, wiping those pensive tears away from his cheeks, kissing all his unreasonable fears away, and fucking his wicked soul into oblivion.

 

It sounds astoundingly impossible but that’s how it is for Jongin. The mere realization of someone being out the to accept his damaged self the way it makes him want to rip his heart out. Those gnarly scars dotting his skin don’t repulse Sehun. Instead, he intently listens to the incoherent celerity Jongin vents out all the baleful tales inextricably attached to them and carefully assuages his discomfort by pressing loving kisses to each forgotten wound.

 

That was how Jongin found himself unequivocally drawn to Sehun’s stupid half-moon smiling eyes and the adorable idiosyncrasy of Sehun’s lisp whenever the other surreptitiously whispered his name.

 

Even today, Jongin decides, Sehun is exceedingly strange and unpredictable.

  
  
It’s curiously cold that night. The windows to the apartment Sehun hurriedly recited the address to him on the phone during their terse conversation are left wide open in the oppressively wintry day. Jongin nearly has a conniption when he finally steps into Sehun’s home - he doesn’t know if he can really call this place a home because, for the lack of a better word or phrase, it can be plainly described as a pigsty.

  
  
Unkempt and sullied. Just like Sehun’s personality.

  
  
The chill sinks all the way into his bones, and bizarrely, Jongin feels even colder than it was outside. Apparently, Sehun nurses some weird vendetta against room heaters. Now it probably also extends to shutting his windows close. Apprehension burgeoning in his heart, Jongin’s discretion vacillates between heedlessly waiting for Sehun and bolting the fuck out of the front door this very moment. 

 

His heart suddenly constricts, faltering in a beat. And it’s not because of the unrelenting cold this time, but for an aloof pair of eyes fixated on him from across the corridor, through the slightly ajar door.  

  
  
“Nini, my sweet little Nini…”

  
  
Jongin simpers.

 

It’s Sehun. He’s home.

 

Nothing scares him anymore.

 

The luscious slide of lips and the wafts of hot breaths tickling the back of Jongin’s neck triggers a cascade of flaring sensation down the length of his limbs like a domino fall.

  
  
Sehun meticulously dresses him up in the prettiest of skirts and cheap lace panties decorated with ribbons, the lace accentuating the sharp curves of his all too lithe hips.  Humming to himself, he pulls Jongin into painstakingly deep and breathless kisses while he does, and as always, ascertains to leave one article of clothing on Jongin’s body.

 

The dimly lighted room soon resonates with a ratchet symphony - wanton moans and garbled curses. Jongin concedes gratefully, basking in the warmth emanating from those fingertips cajolingly raking across his prickling flesh and the itchy garment lewdly bunching up around his waist as Sehun fucks into him - brutal and fast.

  
  
The teapoy is virtually demolished and the dilapidated remnants discarded into some obscure corner of the room because Sehun was inebriated enough to throw him onto it in an urgent frenzy.

  
  
Vehemently swivelling his hips, Sehun thrusts a pliant Jongin into the grotesque carpet of his slovenly apartment, multiple unidentifiable stains littered all across the rug. Jongin’s head bangs against the wooden couch leg with each merciless shove, his cock aching and the coarse material of the carpet painfully chafing his back.

 

Jongin massages Sehun’s scalp, coyly mapping the ripples of powerful muscles in his shoulders with the curious digits of his hand, and Sehun kisses the flushed column of Jongin’s throat, drinking in his intoxicating scent.

 

Sehun grunts and feels lace crudely brush against his dick as he presses into Jongin’s slick hole, the fabric forcibly pushed aside from the latter’s crease for Sehun to make way into him. Gracefully arching his back, Jongin expels an uncharacteristically high-pitched squeal when Sehun goes wonderfully deep, the latter’s swollen cockhead precisely hitting his prostate.

  
  
Sehun’s ears perk up as he hears the noise, and he downcasts his glazed eyes to drink in Jongin’s delectably wrecked state.

  
  
“Mine. All mine,” he coos, licking his lips, and starts bucking his hips in sharp staccato lunges.

  
  
“Mhmm… h-harder-” Jongin moans appreciatively, eyes rolling back and drool dribbling down his chin, and clenches hard around the cock drilling into him. Sehun throatily emits a responsive moan, ego bloating, as his dick relentlessly twitches and pulses at the soft crack audible in Jongin’s plea.

  
  
“You like that, huh? My cock wrecking your tight cunt,” Sehun snarls, his speech slurred by liquor. He clumsily drags Jongin’s body down to pin him more and hauls the latter’s quivering thighs to hook them under his arms. Instinct makes Sehun rut even faster, deep and long shoves, his balls obscenely slapping against Jongin’s thick ass with each strong thrust.

  
  
Jongin melts a little, and a little more, mewling sweetly as beads of precome drip from his aching cock and stain the material of the skirt in dark patches. Body going lax and receptive against the carpet, only his hands remain on Sehun’s broad shoulders, stroking and scratching restlessly.

  
  
Sehun is simply a sly motherfucker who knows that dirty talk is his kryptonite even when he’s never vocally assented his quirk.

  
  
Choking on another pleased cry, Jongin absentmindedly lets his disoriented gaze drift up to the off-white ceiling.

  
  
Sehun just knows a lot more than he should.

  
  
The vice-like grip around his thighs unforgivingly tightens, gnarly crescents blossoming on the plump flesh. But Jongin is a little too lost in lust relishing the slick glide of Sehun’s cock, hot and filthy, against his walls to protest or even register the intense bloom of burning pain those bruises are causing him.

 

Rather, trying his damnedest to contain those pained cries, Jongin exasperatedly goads Sehun into increasing his pace by moaning sultrily and invitingly parting his thighs wider, while a harsh melody of uneven breaths mingled in with the profuse chanting of Jongin’s sweet _‘so good’s_ and perfunctory _‘i love you’s_ that both of them are already so mundanely habituated with bleakly reverberates through the room.  

  
  
“Fuck… so close,” Jongin whines, impatient and loud. Futilely attempting to stifle another filthy mewl, he fervently snakes his arms around Sehun’s neck to pull him down so that they can kiss, Sehun’s mouth so warm and the wet press of his tongue so soothing. Purring contently, Jongin cannot help but admit that it always feels like being cloud nine with Sehun’s tongue (or cock) buried deep, deep down his throat.

  
  
It’s Sehun who brusquely breaks the satisfying liplock, his teeth now latching onto a smooth stretch of skin in Jongin’s neck. Gasping, Jongin shivers violently at the twinge of pain coursing through the area. The reddish gouge that mars his bronzed skin when Sehun lets his teeth sink deep into his pliable flesh is nothing but a mere flash of the searing agony puddled between his trembling thighs, delectable as the pain of his lungs despairingly aching for air.

  
  
“You’re so hot, I fucking swear,” Sehun sneers, his parted lips tantalizingly mouthing at Jongin’s frantic pulse. “Come on, now tell me how much you love my cock, Jongin-ah.”

  
  
“I…” Jongin hesitantly croaks out, believing he would have appreciated those lewd phrases more had it not been for the clusterfuck of dizziness kicking in and the crippling anxiety asphyxiating his synapses the very moment he spots a slew of white pills and half-filled syringes strewn across the floor in one grimy corner of the room. Tears flit at the inflamed corners of Jongin’s eyes, vision turning blurred and the muscles in his throat tensing up as a weak whimper escapes his throat.

  
  
“Sehun,” he hiccups, fat tears incessantly rolling down his blotchy cheeks.

  
  
Sehun follows Jongin’s line of sight, expression lacking any semblance of shock or surprise despite the uncontrollable plummeting of his heart.

  
  
“Is t-that…you aren’t d-drunk, are yo-”

 

Sehun laughs, those vocal vibrations taste almost as foul as the ampoule getting crushed between his molars.

  
  
_Then promise that you will take me with you wherever you go._

 

He blinks blearily and cuts Jongin off by expelling a feral growl, redoubling his pace and fucking like a madman into Jongin’s exhausted body.

  
  
Jongin is his most prized possession. Jongin is, faultlessly, his pride. Jongin must remain unbreakable.

  
  
He doesn’t deign abate his pace anymore.

  
  
Sehun could turn a plethora of vivacious spirits into rotting carcasses in a split second, his movements unbelievably swift and deadly while wielding lethal vice - that godforsaken Beretta. Sehun could always smugly claim that he loves _her_ more than any temporal possession, values _her_ more than his own demented soul. But every fleeting moment, Sehun would make sure to remind Jongin into the frail interstice of their lips of the unconditional promise that he shall forever _‘love a sun-kissed angel who is worth more than a myriad sexy replicas of that flimsy piece of metal’._

  
  
_“What a dismal lie. I know you well enough to say that you would just end up fucking me with all of them, gross pervert.”_

  
  
And then Jongin would kiss him. Insensibly lose his entire being to Sehun. Lose himself in midst of a vortex elusively whirling in the most tranquil cerulean of foaming oceans and amongst the shimmers of illimitable flaming embers irradiating behind his eyelids.

  
  
Jongin suppresses another pathetic sob and tugs a woozy Sehun down into a bone-crushing hug. Mouth slackening and his walls fluttering around Sehun in bliss, Jongin feels his whole body shudder and convulse delightfully as he comes in the space between their sweaty bodies. His lips softly mouth at the divot of Sehun’s shoulders, dousing the sunken area in moist warmth as he inhales staccato breaths during the ebb of his euphoric high, his own lukewarm come sloshing between their stomachs in a disturbingly lulling manner.

  
  
Sehun follows suit shortly thereafter, breath faltering and rhythm turning erratic as his calloused palm reluctantly reaches up to entwine itself with Jongin’s own clammy ones. Sehun’s hips come to an abrupt standstill and his cock throbs, spilling warm spurts of semen that are immediately swallowed by Jongin who continues crooning ever so softly, the familiar sensation of being full feeling so jarringly good.

   
_  
_ _Why are you lying?_

  
_  
_ _Why are you leaving?_

  
  
Oh Sehun never regrets anything.

  
  
“Why?”

  
  
But today, it’s the same Oh Sehun who regrets hurting Jongin, regrets breaking his trust, regrets being too much a coward for leaving him without so much as a simple goodbye.

  
  
He hazily reaches up and pulls Jongin’s face close to his, embracing him and pressing his forehead against Jongin’s own.  

 

He does not kiss Jongin.

 

“Jongin-ah… my heart only ever belonged to y-you.”

  
  
His voice is debilitated by the end of the sentence, and he isn’t sure if Jongin hears him.

 

“Goodbye.”

  
  
Silly boy.

 

_I love you so much, Jongin-_

 

“You fucking liar.”

 

Head hanging low, Sehun mutely pretends to ignore the cacophony of his rotten heart shattering into millions of irreparable fragments.

 

Everything feels so cold all of a sudden.

 

 

 

**↢❦↣**

 

 

  
  
_“You fucking liar.”_

  
  
He might have spoken a bit too soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Jongin’s fate in the end and whether he requites Sehun’s feelings or what he feels is nothing but an unethically severe case of Stockholm Syndrome are all open for interpretation.
> 
> Tysm for reading! :D


End file.
